


Hang on, girl

by Pep_the_tikitaka_lord



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternate Universe - K/DA (League of Legends), Gen, Sad Crack, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Surreal, Teleportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 18:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pep_the_tikitaka_lord/pseuds/Pep_the_tikitaka_lord
Summary: Life sucks. Then it gets funny. Then shit hits the fan. Then it's all over.Cringy and sad crackfic. Read at your own risk.





	Hang on, girl

Hi! My name is Dia and today I tried to kill myself.

I failed, shit hurt, now I'm here, bored out of my mind.

A bottle of vodka in my hand, I make my way towards a bright circle of lights right in the middle of my room, because why the fuck not? A moment ago I wanted to end my life out of boredom. What can go wrong?

I take a swig, throw my shoulder long black hair back and before I remember that I haven't taken a shower for more than 48 hours, I'm already walking through that thing.

Here goes nothing I guess.

"Heey ladies! Heard you needed another degenerate to make your life compl... oh shitnuggets."

Now if that ain't no dream, then I don't know either. It's not like I know what is happening in the first place.

"Excuse me, what are you doing here?" a girl with animal ears asks me. There's whiskers on her face, and marks on her cheeks.

I don't know what to say.

"How did you get in here?" another girl asks me. She has some pointy metal ornaments on her fingers, and her presence makes me smell the kind of money she must be sitting on.

Another very pretty girl with a double bun in her purple hair sits tensed up in the back.

What the hell?

"If you would be so kind to ask me questions in my area of expertise, that'd be rad," I say, remembering I have the open glass bottle in my hand. I take another swig. When the silence in the room continues to thicken, I extend the arm with the alcoholic beverage in my hand. A peace offering never hurt anybody, right?

My body is yanked back and something presses right into the bruises on my neck. That shit hurts! Instinctively I try to free myself from the grip, but whoever holds me is good at what they are doing.

Okay, I might not exactly be some muscle packed gal in the first place.

"Before we get security, was it worth it sneaking up backstage?" my captor asks. All five braincells not affected by either alcohol or the oxygen deprivation earlier worked hard to crack this new piece of information.

"Backstage? I don't even know where I am, lol."

Yes. I'm a cringelord. I say "lol" instead of laughing. Sometimes I laugh afterwards. It's disgusting. Remember? I wanted to murk my ass.

"I hate fans like you. We are already very transparent for your sakes, and you still don't know how to respect personal space."

Am I a bad person for enjoying this kind of physical closeness? Why am I even asking, the answer is obvious. Anyway, even my dumb brain was able to notice that I am continuously sinking into quicksand made of deep shit by the second. I am probably supposed to do something reasonable.

Crap, not my strong suit.

"I have literally no idea how I got here, nor who you are. All I know is I went through some bright light and thought it'd be hella funny to spout some nonsense while I go through." Very believable, Dia. The grip doesn't loosen, and I really regret picking the weakest hook in the ceiling to hang myself from earlier. Those bruises really really sting with the additional pressure. Or maybe I'm just imagining things? "Wait a second. Am I actually dead? Have I fucking finally been successful in one damn thing in my life?"

"She's mad," rich vibe girl says. Catgirl puts a hand on her shoulder, then speaks to me.

"Listen. I understand that you must be going through a tough time in your life. But sneaking up on people in their privacy is still not something you do." Her voice is so caring and sweet. I would have had an emotional meltdown if I didn't have my head locked in an insane grip. Holy crap that girl holding me in place must be insanely strong. I would have said I wouldn't like to cross her anytime soon, but here I am, doing exactly that.

And they wanted to throw a therapist at my wreck. What a sad fiesta.

I'm going from cringelord to sadlord in record speed again.

"I uh... I'm sorry for barging in," I say. The adrenaline is getting out of my system, and so the usual moodiness and self-depreciation are back in their seats. "I take it you won't let me go like that anymore. I get it. Just like..." my neck burned like somebody had applied skin lotion made out of napalm, "If you wouldn't mind releasing my neck a little? I'm having some insane ropeburn going on there."

"Not gonna happen."

Some big guy opens the door behind me, and the grip on my neck intensifies. The burn gets real bad. I drop the bottle, it shatters next to me. My hands try to loosen the grip choking me. I expected the arm to be much thicker, but it's very thin, and coarse.

Shit.

All colours blur into one big, molten mess.

I have been dangling from the ceiling all that time.

That means I made it?

Why is it not making me happy?

Everything fades to darkness.

Fuck...


End file.
